


living life and loving boys

by TheGlassesPredicament



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, this clip left me a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGlassesPredicament/pseuds/TheGlassesPredicament
Summary: "Robbe shuddered, breathing hard. 'Milan,' he said, voice cracking. 'I need help.'"Robbe calls Milan after the attack. The next morning, they talk.
Relationships: Robbe Ijzermans/Sander Driesen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 247





	living life and loving boys

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all. so, originally i was planning to write up a part two for my other rosander fic, but then vrijdag 22:53 happened.  
this fic is me a) reacting to and processing everything in the clip, and b) thinking about how this might also affect milan, in addition to robbe and sander. 
> 
> a quick warning that this fic addresses the events of that clip, and has mentions of homophobic violence, as well as descriptions of a panic attack.

Robbe’s hand shook as he pressed the call button on his phone, body still lying curled on the ground. He wanted to fall apart, to melt into the cracks of the street under him, but Sander’s shaky breaths beside him kept him grounded.

Milan picked up on the fourth ring, the muffled sounds of a night club in the background as he spoke. “Robbe, look, I know you’re sorry, but I can’t really talk right now, can it wait ‘til the apartment?” 

Robbe shuddered, breathing hard. “Milan,” he said, voice cracking. “I need help.”

He heard some jostling, and then the club noise got quieter. “What happened? Are you okay?” Milan’s tone was panicked. There was a moan from beside Robbe, and he shifted to look at Sander, momentarily forgetting the call. 

“Robbe? Robbe. I need to know where you are.” Milan cut through the silence, pulling Robbe back into the present.

“The alley behind-” Sander coughed next to him and moaned again. “By the bar on Fuggerstraat.” As Robbe spoke into the phone, he shifted his body again, pushing himself closer to Sander. 

The phone fell from Robbe’s hand as he took in Sander’s appearance. He was curled up in a similar position as Robbe had been, and there was blood on his hands. On Sander’s left cheek, a large bruise was forming around his eye.

“I’ll be there soon, okay? I’m going to call Zoe.” Milan’s voice rang out from the phone speaker. There was a beep, and Robbe’s screen went dark.

As Sander grunted again, Robbe scooted close enough that he could touch Sander, pulling the blond boy into his lap and rubbing slow circles onto his back.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, but his voice trembled as he said it. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll be okay.” 

Robbe could feel himself shaking but was helpless to stop it. He looked down at his boyfriend, their bodies aching and bruising, and tears began welling in his eyes. Robbe wasn’t a cryer; on the rare occasions he expressed a negative emotion, it was in bursts of fiery, intense anger.

But there, laying in the dirty alley, he wasn’t mad. He didn’t have the energy to be. Instead, all that he could feel was fear, deep and dark and consuming. 

He was scared that Sander was hurt, that he could be hurt again. He was scared that those men would be back, that there would be new men next time. He was scared there might _be_ a next time. 

His thoughts stacked, collecting and building on each other until they filled his brain, drowning him in anxiety and terror. His breathing became short, more erratic, and he shook more violently, unable to keep control of his body. Sander moved away from him, straining himself as he sat upright, leaning against the wall beside them.

Outside the alley Robbe could hear vague yelling, but it sounded distant. His head felt heavier and heavier, and his eyes wouldn’t stay open. Just as frantic footsteps came around the corner, he felt a sharp pain in his right temple, and his vision went black.

  
  


When Robbe finally came to, the first thing he noticed was the weight on his right side. He squinted, making out the figure laying half on him as Sander, who had wrapped his arms tightly along Robbe’s waist, head on his shoulder. The second thing he noticed was that they were in the apartment living room, on the couch, and that they weren’t alone.

“Hey,” Milan said softly. “Are you… Do you remember much of last night? You were out of it when I arrived, we nearly drove you to the hospital.”

Robbe closed his eyes again, and the scene replayed in his mind. It went fuzzy after Milan got there; he could only remember snapshots of the night, holding an icepack to his temple as Milan bandaged his wrist, helping Sander sit down on the couch.

“Not much after… it’s all a blur.” Robbe opened his eyes again, finding Milan’s face hovering beside his, features laced with concern.

“Do you… know what happened? Why you were attacked?” Milan’s question had an apprehensive tone, as if he could break Robbe just from bringing it up.

There was a long pause as Robbe thought. “You were right,” he said, “I… I’m not brave. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. I can’t… It’s too much, Milan. It’s all too much.”

Milan’s look turned to understanding, and he took his friend’s hand. “I know.” He looked hurt, not by Robbe’s words, but by the truth behind them. “It’s so much, I know. It’s hard to wake up every day and know that this could happen, that this happens all the time, just because you exist.” He sat down on the edge of the couch, still looking at Robbe. “But you woke up today. You woke up despite all of that, despite what happened yesterday. And that’s brave.”

Robbe felt a loose tear fall as Milan squeezed his hand. “Milan…” he started, but was cut off.

“It’s okay. I accept your apology. It hurt that you said those things, but I know exactly where those thoughts come from, and I know you’re sorry.”

Robbe shook his head, his gaze drifting to Sander’s feet, pressed up against his own. “It’s not, though. I thought that if I put a distance between me and those stereotypes that I would be treated, I don't know…”

“Straight?” Milan finished. Robbe nodded hesitantly. “It’s tempting to pretend that if you just perform straight, if you perform masculinity, you’ll be immune to all the hate. But at the end of the day, it won’t matter to bigots how much football you watch or how often you skate, all that matters to them is whether you’re a queer.”

“It’s just so… _unfair_,” Robbe told him. “There’s nothing we can do. I hate it.” He looked up at Milan, a mix of hopelessness and exhaustion on his face. 

Milan sighed. “I hate it, too, but we can do something. We can live.” Milan glanced at Sander, then back at Robbe. “You can keep living life and loving boys. Show them you aren’t going away. It’s hard, it’s a struggle, but it is so, so worth it. Trust me, Robbe.

Robbe gave him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you, Milan.” His flatmate smiled back, giving his hand one last squeeze before standing up.

“Okay, now that we’ve had our heart-to-heart, I’m a bit hungry. Do you have any breakfast requests?”

On his right, Robbe felt Sander stir. “Croques?” The blond asked, voice rough. “That was a sweet conversation, by the way. Didn’t want to interrupt, but… I appreciated it.”

Milan grinned at him. “Of course, deep conversations are welcome any time at Casa Milan. And so are you, Mr…”

“Sander,” he replied, untangling his right arm from Robbe and offering it to Milan. “Sander Driesen.”

“Happy to finally meet you, Sander.” Milan shook his hand and then walked to the living room entrance. “So, croque?”

Sander looked back at Robbe, confident and upbeat as ever. It made Robbe smile. The blond smirked at his boyfriend. “Yes, croque.”


End file.
